


5 Times Clint Incorrectly Guessed Peter's Identity

by hopscotch_with_stars (orphan_account)



Series: The 5+1 Adventures of Peter Parker and the Avengers [1]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-29
Updated: 2019-01-03
Packaged: 2019-07-04 02:55:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,492
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15832308
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/hopscotch_with_stars
Summary: +1 Time He Got it RightThis is an AU that takes place after the events of Civil War and Homecoming but before Infinity War.The Rogue Avengers have been pardoned, finally, and have returned to the Avengers Compound... but tension is still high between teammates. Can it be the "two" new additions to the team, young nerd Peter Parker, and the vigilante Spiderman, that brings the team back together? Or will it tear them further apart?





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> Hi everyone!  
> So, this is my first fanfic on this site... I hope you guys enjoy! :)

Weekends were the greatest. Fridays, too.

Not that any self-respecting teenager would say anything different… but Peter Parker, seventeen, nerdy, mostly friendless, always had had more reasons than most to adore the end of the school week.

Even more since a few months ago.

When, two years previous, Peter Parker had been bitten by a radioactive spider; witnessed his uncle bleed out before his eyes; and then promptly became a crime-fighting, mutated vigilante with a big mouth, he had expected his life to change. 

He had never expected that, over a year later, he would be sleeping over at Avengers Compound on the weekends. 

He couldn’t get over how utterly awesome his life was, and doubted he ever would, what with Ned to remind him. 

'But,' Peter thought, with a wry grin, skipping excitedly out of the school building, 'even if my best friend wasn’t always jabbering in my ear, I don’t think I would be able to forget how epic this is.' 

Peter spotted the conspicuous black limo parked on the corner, idling impatiently. He waved vigorously at the front seat, but couldn’t see any movements through the black-tinted windows. Regardless, he doubted that Happy was waving back. 

Peter couldn’t bring himself to mind.

~~*~~

“Hey, Mr. Happy!” 

“Hey, kid.”

The door hadn’t even closed behind the crime-fighting superboy before he was grinning up at the driver, as resolutely cheerful as always. 

“I am so excited!” 

Peter said this every weekend when Happy came to pick him up after school; nevertheless, it seemed to always be true. 

Happy smirked a bit as he shifted the car into drive. He had to admit, the kid had grown on him-'like a fungus,' Tony would always say-even to the point at which he had offered to allow Peter to sit in the front seat. The boy, however, had politely declined with a wide-eyed declaration of, I wouldn’t want to distract you from driving, Mr. Happy, sir-

Just Happy, kid, Happy had said, rolling his eyes. Like the kid would ever stop talking or distracting him, front seat or back.

Peter had just stared back at him, eyes still wide. Of course, Mr. Happy sir-

“...gonna have to fix my suit.” 

The boy was rambling. 

'As usual,' Happy thought, and felt a spark of fondness warm his chest. 

“See, I was visiting a kid’s hospital, and it was all great-I did flips and stuff and this little girl drew this really cool picture of her and Spiderman, and it was really cool-but anyway, this boy puked on my suit when I was visiting him, ‘cause he had the flu, but then I thought I could just run my suit through the washer but I think I messed it up because the adhesive-you know, the sticky stuff on my suits’ fingers-is all messed up.” He took a deep breath. “I mean, I was on patrol and was trying to stick to this building, but the sticky stuff wasn’t so sticky, I guess, because I feel off the side of the building-don’t worry, I was okay-and though of course, my natural stickiness from the spiderbite is still working on my fingers and toes, but it isn’t like I can use that through my suit, but I don’t really want to tell Mr. Stark, because I don’t want him to know I put my suit in the washer. But I think I have to, you know?”

Happy grinned a bit to himself as he switched lanes.

“Did you hear about the Rogue Avengers being pardoned?”

Happy glanced back in his mirror; Peter, though gesticulating wildly as he continued, didn’t meet his driver’s eyes. 

“Well, duh, you did. But I mean, I bet Mr. Stark has a lot of opinions on it, and I really want to ask him about it, but I think it’s probably a sore subject. I mean…”

A sore subject. That was putting it lightly. 

Don’t ask the Boss about it, Happy wanted to insist. But Peter, still rambling on, didn’t really give him the chance.

“Of course, I’m sure he’s super relieved that they’re pardoned-I know he was really supporting them in trial-but, really, I could get why he might stress about it: I mean, they were supposed to be friends, and all that-” he gestured wildly, as if to encompass the entirety of the complicated relationship between the Avengers- “and then-”

“Kid,” Happy interrupted, “Just don’t mention it to him.”

“Right,” Peter agreed, looking only slightly put out. “Not mentioning it to him. Not-”

He was cut off by a loud yell from the driver as another car pulled in front of them. Happy slammed down on the horn, then shook his head. “New York drivers,” he muttered.

“Oh-oh!” Peter was practically radiating excitement. “Did I tell you I got my license on Tuesday?”

Lord help them all.

“Oh?” Happy managed, trying to push away the image of a certain Spiderkid gunning it down the highway, windows down.

“Yeah! I’m so excited, but I still am taking the subway right now. It’s a lot faster than going in the traffic, and May normally uses the car to get to work, so…”

The tangent continued, but Happy found himself unable to follow the boy’s words. 

Did you hear about the Rogue Avengers being pardoned?

Yeah, kid. I did.

~~*~~

Peter burst out of the elevator, skipping out onto Mr. Stark’s private floor with a vibrating excitement. 

“Mr. Stark!” he called. “Mister…” 

There was no answer.

“FRIDAY, where’s Mr. Stark?” 

“Boss is in his lab, Mr. Parker.”

“Just Peter, please,” he corrected.

Peter continued on his way, crossing through the kitchen and making his way towards the lab. Often, Mr. Stark would be waiting for him, but this, he supposed, must not be one of those days.

He was just outside the lab doors when he stiffened. His fifth sense, his spidey-sense, as Ned had deemed it, was tingling suddenly, as it always did when a threat was near, tense as his entire body, when-

“What are you doing here, child?”

There was an arm wrapped around him, and against his throat was-a knife. 

He stilled. 

“Nat, what are you...is that a kid?”

That voice… it was familiar. Heart-stoppingly so.

Peter wondered if it was his spider-sense that was causing him to shake, or if it was shock. 

That voice, saying Nat: he knew who was on Tony’s private floor. 

A beat passed, and then a new voice joined the others.

“Nat. That’s a kid.”

There was another pause. Then the arm around him was lifted, the pressure of a blade at his throat gone.

Slowly, he turned around. There, right in front of him, was Black Widow. And then Hawkeye. And Captain America, voice ever-so-familiar from the numerous PSAs featuring the super soldier, constantly on repeat at Midtown High School. 

“What’s going on?” Another figure appeared in the already crowded hall. The Falcon.

Oh. my. G-

“You’re Black Widow!” Peter burst out. “And Hawkeye, and Falcon and frickin’ Captain America-”

“We know who we are. The question is, who are you?” The knife in Black Widow’s hands was still raised. 

Peter blinked. “Me? Oh, I’m Peter. Parker. Peter Park-”

The knife was once again dangerously close to the boy’s throat. He gulped. 

“Why are you in the Compound?”

“I’m-”

Behind them, there was a swoosh of doors opening--and from the lab spilled Tony Stark himself. 

“Will you stop-”

He froze, suddenly, eyes falling on Peter’s predicament. 

Then the billionaire was rushing forward, yanking the boy behind him. “What. Are. You. Doing.” His voice was cold as he surveyed the Black Widow. “Why are you threatening my intern?”

“Your intern?” Natasha Romanoff arched a delicate eyebrow. “I didn’t realize you had any interns, Stark.”

“Well, I do,” Mr. Stark said, words clipped abruptly. He spun around, facing Peter. “What are you doing here, Peter?” 

“It’s Friday,” Peter said, crossing his arms. “Happy picked me up. You know, like he does every weekend.”

The older man swore under his breath, swiping a hand across his face. “Sorry. Sorry, Pete. I should have-”

“Pete?” An incredulous male voice cut off Mr. Stark’s words. Peter looked up to see Hawkeye staring down at him. The man started laughing. “Oh, Stark. So, who’s the mother?”

Peter gaped. “Oh, no. No, no, no. You’re-”

“Mistaken.” His mentor’s voice was firm, but there was an angry red flush in both cheeks. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.” He spun on Peter. “You need to go home. D’you need money for a cab, or-”

Peter felt a flash of hurt. “No. I got it.”

He wondered if Mr. Stark was really that keen to get rid of him. Maybe he was just embarrassed to have the other Avengers meet him. 

He turned away, heading back into the elevator. He could swing back home; maybe pick up a subway. At least May wouldn’t be worrying about his curfew, not while she was thinking that he would be staying in the compound. 

The last thing he saw heard was Mr. Stark’s raised voice, drifting into the elevator before the doors closed.


	2. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> +1 Time He Met the Avengers After the Fact

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about updating later than promised! School just started for me and my schedule was really thrown around. I think I'll get a more steady writing plan now. 
> 
> Hope you enjoy the new chapter!

“Making my way downtown,” Peter muttered, web catching onto the building before him. “Swinging fast.”

There was a distant scream, and following it, the distinct boom of an explosion.

“Swinging faster.”

Spiderman, seeing the chaos before him, dropped down into the fight with a practiced ease. Leaning up against a building, he scanned his surroundings.

It was a bank robbery. 

Just another almost stereotypical bank robbery. Masks and everything: the whole shebang. But those guns… he recognized them. They were Toomes’.

If he hadn’t had his upbeat persona to keep up, he would have cursed. Violently. 

Instead, all that came out of his mouth was: “F...frankly outstanding flying pineapples.”

Peter had thought he had managed to dispose of what was left of Toomes’ weapons. 

But of course, he hadn’t. Parker luck. 

“Hey!” he shouted, swinging into the bank. “Didn’t your parents ever teach you not to touch what isn’t yours?”

There were eight robbers, total. Piece of cake. 

“Very nice one-liner, Peter.” Karen’s cool voice filled his mask.

Peter grinned. Under his tutelage, the AI was on her way to becoming a real Gen Z kid.

“Don’t move, Spidey.”

Peter slowly glanced to his left as a growling voice rose to his ears, smiling slipping away. He stiffened. There was a little girl, in the hands of the masked criminal. Tears were streaming down her button nose. A gun was levelled with her small head.

“Don’t move, or I’ll blow her brains across the entire street.”

No. There were some lines that shouldn’t be crossed, even for criminals. This girl was a child. Six years old, at most. But Peter had no doubt that the man wouldn’t hesitate to shoot. Already, there was blood matted in her brown curls.

He could taste a copper tang in the air, thanks to his mega-intense senses that arrived with the spider bite.

The smell of the blood shocked him into a tight focus. 

He couldn’t let the girl get hurt, he couldn’t-

But she was already hurt. He didn’t know how bad. If he didn’t get her out of there, get her medical attention-

In a flash, he darted his hand out, shooting a web at the gun near the child’s forehead. It was snatched from the man’s hand. Almost immediately, his already tingling spider senses went haywire as the other robbers’ guns were aimed towards him. 

Peter was already in motion. He barrelled towards the little girl, snatching her away from the masked man. Shots rained down, and even as he extending his arm to swing away, he curled his body inward, sheltering the trembling child in his arms from the gunfire.

Just as he shot out his arm to swing away, there was a sudden flare of pain, bursting in his shoulder. He gasped, then bit down on his lip hard enough to taste blood; baring down the agony that roared as he skidded to his knees.

“Peter, you have sustained great injury. It is recommended that you stop immediately and inform Mr. Stark of-”

“No, Karen,” he managed, through gritted teeth.

“Peter-”

“Karen, mute.”  
No, no. He couldn’t stop; he had the little girl, wrapped in his arms. She needed to get out. Ignoring the darkness that encroached on his vision, he stumbled to his feet. Black spots danced, blotting the world in shadow. 

He stumbled out of the building, darting down the nearest alley. Depositing the child before him, he watched through half-lidded, exhausted eyes as two women, in civilian clothing; not enemies, he assured himself, approached. 

“Meg?” the taller of the two whispered to the little girl, before sweeping her into a giant hug. 

“Oh Meggy, you’re okay,” the other, a shorter brunette, reassured, rushing forward to join the first lady.

“Thank you, Spiderman,” Taller Lady breathed. “Thank you so, so much… I don’t know how-”

Spiderman. 

He was Spiderman. It was his job to save people… and banks.

Peter staggered forward. “Need to- need to stop ‘em.” 

God, why wouldn’t the world stop spinning?

“Hey, hey,” the brunette said, “I think you should wait for the police. It looks like you’ve been shot.” The concern was clear on her face.

Peter wanted to laugh. Don’t be ridiculous, I haven’t been shot-

But what was that, dripping down his back?

He raised a probing hand to his shoulder and was met with a flare of agony so heart-wrenching that he slid to his knees. 

No, no- he had to fight-

“Spidey-”

The world, dipped, in and out of focus.

Was that blood on his hands?

Maybe he really had been shot. 

“Mr. Stark is going to kill me,” he groaned, before promptly sliding into unconsciousness. 

~~*~~

Tony knew there was a reason that he hadn’t gone to that board meeting. 

He had known, deep down, that taking his newly updated suit for a test run was much more important than sitting in a stuffy room with a bunch of old-

Well, okay. Maybe he hadn’t known that Peter Parker was going to get hurt. Maybe he had wanted to dodge Pepper’s insistence that yes, Tony you must come to this meeting! 

But, even if that was true, no one had to know.

~~*~~

Having already been in his suit, flying above the Manhattan skyline, it only took him a few minutes to reach Peter. 

Thrusters at 130 percent, Tony disregarded FRIDAY’s warnings. In his mind, all he could see was Peter: Peter hurt, Peter bleeding out, Peter unconscious, Peter involuntarily unmasked… The boy would be swarmed by civilians. Trampled by the crowd. He would-

Oh god. The kid was going to be the death of him. 

“Nearing proximity to Mr. Parker, sir.” FRIDAY’s voice, familiar and calming, filled his helmet. He exhaled, slowly. 

“Direct me, FRIDAY.”

As he slowly descended, a small firework of surprise burst in his chest, barely recognizable over the dull panic buzzing in his head. Surprise, because Peter wasn’t in the crowd below. Though the bank was being swarmed, police sirens blaring, the Spiderkid wasn’t down among the masses. He was on a rooftop.

How the h-

“Peter!” Tony’s voice cracked with panic. 

There was a pool of blood beneath the boy. His face, beneath the mask, was unmoving, until-

“Hey, Mr. Stark!” 

Tony’s breath huffed out of his chest all at once. He was awake. Peter was alive.

...and trying very hard to look casual.

He had somehow managed to prop himself up on an elbow, wincing only slightly, poorly shielding the scarlet puddle below him. He was grinning- an attempt at a grin, anyway, though it beared a much greater resemblance to a wince. 

“How are you?” Peter asked, baring his teeth once more as he tried, and failed, to pull himself fully upright.

Tony’s fingers curled inward, into fists. His mask popped upward, exposing his stone cold features. 

 

“How am I? How am I? I think a better question would be how are you because you are the one bleeding out on the rooftop! What, you think that just because you told the AI to mute, she wouldn’t alert me that you had been shot? Peter, we have these protocols for a reason. You know that!”

Peter stopped struggling and leaned back on the roof. “Yeah. Yeah. I know.” 

His sweat-streaked pallor was so evident that Tony felt immediately guilty. 

“C’mon. I’m getting you back to the tower to get patched up. Then, we’ll talk about this.”

The older man approached, and, ignoring Peter’s muttering of “can’t wait,” hoisted the still struggling boy into his ironclad arms, mindful of the shoulder that FRIDAY had informed him had been shot.

Tony eyed the wound, but he was no doctor; he knew that. 

“You put those compression webs on the wound?” he asked of Peter, as the Iron Man masked snapped into place once more. “Good.” He engaged his thrusters, ascending as carefully as possible in order to not jar the poor kid’s shoulder wound. Navigating would be difficult without the thrusters on his hands for stability, but not impossible. 

Tony barely breathed until he reached the compound.

~~*~~

“Tony, what the-” -a crash resounded through the room- “-that child is SPIDERMAN! What the actual-”

“No swearing, Bruce. There are minors in the room.”

“Oh, no swearing? No swearing. F…” Bruce glanced guiltily down at the once again unconscious Peter. “...frick off.”

Tony glared. “There is a bullet-ridden minor in the room.”

Bruce froze. Blinked. “Oh.”

“I only took off the mask to make sure he was breathing properly. He was shot in the back. I think… I think he may have punctured a lung. He wouldn’t stop coughing on the way over.” The look on Tony’s face, panic glazed over by a vague attempt of calm, got Bruce into motion. 

“Lay him down, Tony.”

~~*~~

The hospital bed wasn’t even that big. Twin sized. But under the white sheets that were impossibly bright under fluorescent lights, Peter seemed to be drowning in the bed. To be fair, he was a small boy; but he had never seemed as small as he did then.

Tony waited with baited breath as Bruce stepped away. 

“He’ll be okay,” the scientist said, wearily.

Tony’s breath rushed out of his lungs in relief. Thank you, God. Gods. Fate. Destiny. Whatever rules this desolate world.

Bruce slumped in the chair next to Peter’s bed, every line of his body stooped in exhaustion. “Never again am I removing a bullet from a child’s shoulder.”

“Back,” Tony corrected thoughtlessly.

The other man glared, and Tony could almost see why a green rage monster inhabited his body. 

“Nor am I ever again operating on a child. Or sticking a chest tube in their body because they have a punctured lung. A punctured lung, Tony! Don’t you understand? He could’ve died! I think I deserve-”

“An explanation, I know.” Tony joined Bruce in sitting in the uncomfortable chairs lining the walls. I have to get this replaced, he thought, absently. “You deserve an explanation, and possibly a pay raise.” 

Not even a flicker of reaction. Not even the predictable, Since when have I gotten paid?

“Right,” Tony muttered, raking his hand through no longer perfectly styled hair. “An explanation.” He cleared his throat. “This is Peter. Also known as the Spiderkid. Also known as a pain in my…” -he eyed Peter’s hospital bed guiltily- “...behind.”

Still, there was no humor in Bruce’s eyes as he said, flatly, “You brought him to Germany.”

Tony winced. “Not my finest moment, I know. I never thought I would call myself a kidnapper.”

Bruce’s eyes, if even possible, hardened further. “You kidnapped him. Gave him a suit. Brought him to Germany.”

“No! Well, not exactly. His aunt knew. That we were going on a trip. Not that he would be Spiderman-ing. Or that he was Spiderman at all, but the kid blew that one. As for the suit; well, he had already made his own. He’d been doing quite well as a solo act. I just gave him a bit of an upgrade.”

Bruce didn’t look placated. “Tony, he’s a kid. You shouldn’t be encouraging him. You shouldn’t be dragging him into fights with the Avengers. He shouldn’t be fighting crime at all! He should be out, drinking and flirting and quoting… bushes, or whatever it is kids do nowadays.”

I think you mean quoting vines, Tony wanted to say, because Peter hadn’t allowed his mentor to be completely oblivious to all of his references, but, exercising his iron will, Iron Man kept his mouth shut. 

“I tried to stop him, Bruce,” the billionaire philanthropist insisted. “I took away his suit. Forbid him to go out as Spiderman. He went anyway, in his homemade outfit. This is what he wants! I couldn’t stop him if I tried. The best I can do is watch the Baby Monitor feed obsessively and stalk Spiderman on patrols even though I am definitely not a stalker and put a million protocols and safety sets into his suit that he totally disregards and--”

Tony dragged an exhausted hand down his face. “Don’t tell Pepper and Rhodey. They don’t know.”

“Know what?” For a moment, it seemed as if Bruce was going to resume his lecture, but then something in his face lightened. “That Tony Stark has become a dad?”

“W-what?” a-fore-mentioned dad spluttered. “I have- I have not-”

“Oh, yeah, Tony. Whatever.” Bruce looked down at the small figure in the bed, heart monitor beeping steadily in the background. “I get it. I get it now.”

Tony exhaled. He couldn’t admit how badly he had yearned to hear those words. Understand. A small form of confirmation that maybe he hadn’t messed up so badly as a mentor. Maybe his efforts were enough. Maybe-

“Also…” Bruce chewed his lip skeptically. “Do those webs come out of him?”

Tony let loose a surprised hybrid of a laugh-cough and promptly began to choke on laughter.

Maybe everything would be okay, after all.

~~*~~

“Why did Spiderman just charge out of medical?”

Tony’s head shot up as Clint flounced into the room. “He charged out of there? I thought--”

“Yeah,” Clint continued, oblivious to the quite obvious emotional turmoil that was spread across his teammate’s face. “I walked in, looking for Bruce, and there he was, mask part-way rolled up, munching on a granola bar. He saw me, and just booked it--swung right out of the window--”

“What?” Tony leaped to his feet in alarm. “Wh-”

“P--Spiderman will be fine, Tony. He probably just didn’t want Clint here to find out his identity. He was ready to be discharged, anyway.”

Clint’s eyes narrowed. “Wait. You knew about this? Is this why we were all barred from medical? I thought it was because you had a ‘chemical accident’?”

“We did,” Tony said, smooth as silk. 

But at the same moment, Bruce said, “..well…”

They both swung on the Hulk’s alternate ego. He internally cringed.

 

“You’re giving us away--”

“Wait, so he knows Spidey’s identity? What, now you have two illegitimate sons?”

“They’re not my sons!”

“HEY!” Bruce’s yell cut off the other two mid-rant. They did not want to see me mad, he thought, with some satisfaction. “Tony, chill. Spidey’s okay, and Clint knows he’s not your son.”

“Arguable,” Clint muttered.

The radiation scientist ignored him. “And Clint, Spidey doesn’t want the Avengers knowing his identity yet. You have to respect that.”

“But dad over here-” -he gestured at a bristling Tony- “-knows his identity. And so do you! That’s like, a tenth of us.” He frowned, and then began counting it out on his fingers. “No, a-”

“Let it go, Birdbrain. Let it go.” 

It was clear that Clint was not going to let it go.


	3. Chapter Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, guys! Sorry it took so long to update. I'm going to try to get better at that. 
> 
> Well... here it is. 
> 
> (Also... sorry, I'm changing the name of the title. Again.)

“Yes, kid. You can still come over this weekend.”

Pepper glanced up from breakfast as she heard Tony’s words. He was talking to the elusive Peter, she supposed: it had to be. Tony had never shown any interest whatsoever on any other kid.

A pause. “Yeah.” Another pause. “No, Birdbrain’s not going to guess your identity. They think that you and Spidey are my illegitimate twins, though.”

“Yes. Yes.” An eye roll. “See you tomorrow, then. Happy will pick you up.” Another pause. “Yeah. Bye.”

“That Peter?” Pepper asked of Tony, as the man pocketed his Stark Phone.

“Yeah.” Pepper didn’t think that her fiancee was aware of the grin that graced his lips. “He wanted to know if you were still allowed to come this weekend, with them hanging around. Even though he was just in the infirmary yesterday.”

“Well, to be fair, you did kick him out last weekend when he came, didn’t you?”

“I didn’t kick him out… Well, it was for his safety. Now I’m thinking that it’s almost more suspicious if he doesn’t show up. I don’t want them thinking he actually is my secret, illegitimate son,” Tony grumbled. Then he paused. “And, wait, how did you even know about it?”

“You told me,” the redhead reminded him. “Over the phone. When I was in the middle of a meeting. In Tanzania.” 

“I don’t think I remember that.”

“Then, when I wouldn’t pick up you, hacked my phone so I had to answer and couldn’t hang up. Then you whined. For thirty minutes straight. About how those ‘stupid teammates’ and ‘overrated imbeciles’ took away from your time with the kid,” Pepper continued, expression void of emotion.

“Oh, merciless one, what can I do to regain your favor?”

Pepper grinned a bit. “I can think of a few things.”

Tony’s smile was blinding.

“You could let me meet that famed Spiderman,” Pepper mused, ignoring her fiancee edging closer along the granite countertop. “This is my first free weekend in… a long time.”

Tony frowned, arm bumping hers. “You could ask anything of me, and you wanted to meet Peter? So unfair.”

She wrapped her arms around his waist, smiling against his lips. “Life’s unfair.”

~~*~~

The moment Peter heard the voices, he knew he was in trouble. 

When Happy had dropped him off at the compound, he had kind of been expecting the Avengers to be… out. On a mission. Going running. Kicked out, maybe.

What he was not expecting was them to be swarming the resident’s floor, laughing, talking… It was clear it was a party. An all exclusive Avengers party. 

Oh, yeah, it was time to get to the lab.

“Kid!” Mr. Stark yelled. Oh, there he was.

Peter scurried over to his side, just as all thoughts of the lab dissipated. “Mr. Stark!” He peered up at his mentor bemusedly as a heavy hand slapped his back. “Uh, I thought the Avengers weren’t going to be here today.” He lowered his voice. “I mean, you said that they would guess… my identity.”

“Your identity?” Mr. Stark looked confused. He was speaking far too loudly.

The boy frowned. “Mr. Stark, are you okay?” He then blinked. “Are you… drunk? I thought you had sworn off alcohol!”

“He did.”

Peter swung around. Standing there behind him, red hair tightly coiled, in a full business suit, looking amusedly down at him from her stilettos, was Pepper Potts. 

His mouth dropped open. “Ms. Potts! Oh my goodness! It’s such an honor.” He tried to subtly wipe his sweaty hand on his jeans before extending it. “I’m-”

“-Peter, yes, I know. Tony’s spoken very highly of you.”

He blinked wide eyes. Mr. Stark… had spoken to highly about him, Peter Parker, to his fiancee, the one and only Pepper Potts, CEO of Stark Industries. 

No way.

Pepper lips twisted into a small smile. “And yes, my fiance here has sworn off alcohol. And, no, I haven’t let him touch a drop. You have to be careful around here, though: I think that Clint’s spiked the-”

“Peter, my boy!” 

A heavy arm was suddenly thrown across his shoulders. Peter tensed; Mr. Stark, too, suddenly looking nearly sobered up. Spiderman peered upwards, meeting the eyes of… Hawkeye?

“Punch?” the superhero asked, forcing a plastic cup filled with a pink liquid into the younger boy’s hands. 

Peter peered at it wonderingly just as Pepper began: “I don’t think-”

“Ah, let the boy live a little!”

Mr. Stark staggered closer. Peter couldn’t help being slightly impressed. The man’s eyes might have been crossing, but he was still very much upright. “You are not to, under any circumstances, drink the contents of that cup,” he ordered, leveling a sharp gaze and waving a threatening finger at the empty air to Peter’s left. “You are much too good… to…”

Suddenly, like a puppet with its strings cut, the older man collapsed. Peter let out a small gasp; Pepper caught her fiance with a practiced ease.

“Honestly, how much alcohol was in that punch, Clint?” Pepper glared over at Hawkeye, who was still leaning on Peter.

The boy straightened. “There’s alcohol in this?” he asked, giving the cup an accusatory stare before setting it down with more care than some would handle explosives. 

There was a chuckle. A fifth figure approached the group. “You’d hardly know he was Tony’s at all.”

Peter, staring slack-jawed at a one James Rhodes. 

“Mr. Rhodes?” he squeaked, then cleared his throat, the tips of his ears reddening. 

Hawkeye laughed. 

“I’m not Tony’s son,” Peter said, blush still coloring his cheeks. 

“Ah, I know,” the Colonel said.

In the same moment, Mr. Barton muttered: “Biologically.”

Peter gaped. What- 

“So you’re Peter,” Iron Patriot--or War Machine; Peter’s never sure which it is--said. “I have to say, I’m disappointed Tony isn’t conscious to introduce us. I mean, it’s not every day he invites stray kids into the compound.”

“I’m actually fifteen, sir-” Peter began but was interrupted by Hawkeye.

“So how did he recruit you, kid?” 

“I’m really not a kid-”

“Peter’s a child prodigy,” Colonel Rhodes put in, rolling his eyes slightly. “Or so Tony informs me every single day. He was even promoted to Science Bro.”

Peter blushed. “I’m his intern for the September foundation. We just ended up spending more and more time together.”

“So you aren’t his son?”

The other Avengers, the Captain, the Falcon, and Black Widow were approaching. 

Sam Wilson, the Falcon, who seemed to think that Peter was Tony’s kid, was looking bemused. 

Peter blinked. Slowly, he shook his head. “I-” He paused. “I don’t…”

“Don’t listen to him. He knows you’re not Stark’s kid,” a deep voice reassured. 

Peter gaped at Captain America. “Oh, gosh,” he muttered. “You are--I mean--ugh--” His cheeks flamed. “Sorry, I feel like we all had a bad introduction the other day. I’m Peter Parker. It’s really--like really, really nice to meet you all. I mean, it is a little weird because all I can think about are the Captain America themed PJs I had when I was five, and oh my God, did I just say that out loud? This is bad. I’m sorry. I think you should just, like, attack me again or something. I think that would go over better. You know what, nevermind. Don’t mind me. Imma just… I’m just gonna…” 

He forcibly clamped his lips shut, blush creeping down his neck. 

Hawkeye laughed. Peter’s blushed deepened. 

“Aw, kid. Don’t worry about it. We’ve all had Capsicle-themed PJs at some point.”

Captain America blinked. “We have?” 

“No,” the rest of the team recited, except for… Dr. Banner. 

“Sure,” he replied. At the teams’ glances, he raised his hands in surrender. “Hey, I’ve Hulked out in odd places. There hasn’t always been a lot of spare clothes.” 

Peter couldn’t help it. He giggled. The Doctor glanced over at his and, upon seeing Peter, smiled. “Hey, Peter.”

“Hey, Dr. Banner,” Peter greeted, relieved to see a familiar face among his childhood heroes… not that Bruce Banner wasn’t on that list. 

“So, kid? You think you can beat the reigning champion at Mariokart?” Mr. Barton pumped his fist in the air in victory while the Falcon stuck out his lower lip in a pout. 

“You just can’t let that go, can you?”

“Nope. You up for it, kid?”

Playing Mariokart with the Avengers?

He smiled. “Definitely.”

~~*~~

Tony came to slowly, blinking at his ceiling in a familiar daze. 

Oh, God. Why did I ever enjoy getting drunk? 

For that was, undeniably, what he was now. He never should’ve trusted a generous Clint with punch. 

Rubbing a fatigued hand over sunken eyes, he stumbled out of bed--thank God for Pepper, he thought, for she was undoubtedly the one who had put him to bed--and lumbered out of his door, sparing only a glance at the clock.

12:34 A.M.

He’d only been asleep for a few hours, then. He was surprised that he had passed out at all, to be honest: he was Tony Stark; couldn’t he handle a little bit spiked punch? Yet, on the other hand, pulling two all-nighters in a row might have had a little something to do with it, too. And he had had a lot of punch. 

By the time he managed to reach the kitchen, he was just pulling on a semblance of suave--straightening his crumpled suit, patting down his wild tufts of hair, when he ran straight into…

“Peter? Isn’t it past your bedtime?”

Tony glanced around the room. It wasn’t only Peter; it was the entire team. And, there on the table--

“Oh, hell no.” 

He recognized those cups, those ping pong balls, that amber liquid--

“You better have not invited the kid to play Beer Pong, Barton.” He waved a threatening hand towards his teammate, before turning towards Cap. “And, you, Capsicle! I thought you were better than this--”

“Relax, IronDad. It’s just apple juice.” Clint grinned.

Tony stared. 

Peter shrugged, upturning a glass into his mouth in one go. Clint offered him a fist-bump, which the kid returned without the vaguest hint of embarrassment. 

Tony quelled the pang of resentment that rose in his chest. 'What happened while I was passed out? Why is Peter so chummy with Barton?' Then, he mentally slapped himself because--chummy, really?--and because envy was a deadly sin. One that he definitely was not experiencing. 

“Pete’s surprisingly good at this,” Hawkeye continued. “Are you sure he’s not a plant? Hydra, maybe? A secret organization that excels at Beer Pong--well, Apple Juice Pong, really--and Mariokart?”

“He’s just salty because I destroyed him every single time,” Peter announced, plucking a chip from its bowl. 

“Sure, kid,” Tony said, rolling his eyes, though he couldn’t prevent the smile from forming on his lips. “Now--bed, and I mean it! It’s past midnight!”

Peter left the room with a shuffle and groan, waving goodnight to the others. 

As soon as the kid left, Clint raised his eyebrows at Tony. “You sure have a good kid there, BossDad.”

“He’s-he’s not my kid!” Tony spluttered. 

“Whatever, Stark.” Clint grinned. “Whatever you say.”


	4. Chapter Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some special Asgardian visitors arrive at the tower!

Before Spiderman, Peter had been a heavy sleeper. 

Like, a really, really heavy sleeper. The sort of person who had once slept through the fire-alarm, the deafening clatter of pots and pans, and his uncle’s booming, uncontrollable laughter. He had even managed to stay asleep through the impressive torrent of profanity that burst from May’s mouth, mingled with cries of: ‘My casserole!’

But, now… 

Peter still wasn’t sure when his nightly restlessness had begun: when the spider had bitten him, or when, months later, he had become a vigilante. Now, though, when he startled awake at unnatural times, he blamed both his powers and his Spidermanning. 

It was nearly impossible for him to fall asleep. As he stared wide-eyed at the dark ceiling, his superpowered senses would roar, on and on. He couldn’t stop noticing: the individual threads of his blanket that touched his skin, the roar of distant traffic, the musty stench of a neighbor’s trash… Even if he did manage to go to sleep, he would awake at the yapping of a dog, floors down, or at the flicker of lights as May left for her night shift. And of course, the nightmares; the memories; the side effects of his vigilantism, that never failed to jerk him out of sleep, would roar on. 

And so, even a floor down, when the hissing of voices began, Peter flinched awake. 

The covers were thrown off before he even realized what it was that had wakened him. Breath rasping from his throat in desperate puffs, he uncurled himself from bed.

Yelling. That’s what he was hearing. 

But… why? Was there a mission?

Throat tightening in nervous anticipation, Peter stood. He padded out of his door on near-silent feet, stumbling down the stairs when the elevator wouldn’t move fast enough for the fidgeting boy. Taking the steps two at a time, it didn’t take long to reach the Avenger’s communal floor. Yet, just before tumbling into the kitchen, where he could hear the voices, rapidly accumulating in volume, he paused. 

“...No. You can do many things, but you are not getting near Peter again!”

Peter blinked. That was Mr. Stark’s voice. And he was talking about him, Peter.

The kid peered around the corner. The plastic cups from ‘apple-juice pong’ were still scattered haphazardly about the room. The juice sat unattended on the counter, lid nowhere to be seen. In the middle of the room, was his mentor, brown hair sticking out in wild tufts. His grease-stained shirt was parallel to Clint’s juice-stained one. Between them was the Captain, raising placating hands. 

“C’mon Stark,” Hawkeye was saying. “What is the kid, some escapee con-villain? It’s not like you need to keep him hidden from the law or something.” The man frowned. “Right?”

“Of course not!” Mr. Stark snapped. “But you-”

“Hey, hey!” Captain America smoothly interjected. “Everyone, calm it down.”

“Don’t tell me to-” the other two muttered mutinously, but stopped as they realized they were speaking in synchrony. 

“I thought you trusted us again.” Clint glared at the billionaire philanthropist. “We’re staying in your house.”

“I was required by law to admit you here if you were going to be pardoned. So you rogues could be in a safe, monitored environment.” Mr. Stark’s voice was a sneer. “It’s not like I threw a party when you came back.”

“‘Cause we, what? Were scaring your kid away?”

A slight pang of resentment hit Peter--he had thought that Hawkeye liked him--but he stayed quiet, peering around the corner. 

“Hey, nobody here wants a fight,” Captain America said, in a voice so alike to his tones in the PSAs that they showed at school that Peter had to stifle a laugh. “If you want us to leave Peter alone, we will. But I don’t understand how you could possibly think we were a threat to him--”

“Oh, really, Mr. Righteous Capsicle? You can’t? You don’t remember Siberia?”

There was a tight pause. Then, came Captain America’s voice, even tenser than the silence. “Tony, you can’t possibly think--I mean, Siberia was--”

‘Siberia?’ Peter wondered. ‘What had happened in Siberia?’

As if having heard his thoughts, Clint questioned. “Siberia? What happened there?”

There was a pause, and the suspended tension was so strangling that Peter couldn’t handle it. 

He stepped forward. 

The adults froze as he walked into the kitchen. Calmly, he worked his way between them, and stepped to the fridge, wrinkling his nose at the content. 

“C’mon, Mr. Stark. I thought you were going to buy some peanut butter.” 

His mentor collapsed into a chair, rubbing an exhausted hand across his eyes. “Jeez, kid. How long were you listening?”

Peter didn’t answer immediately. Rather, he closed the refrigerator door and tugged open the freezer. With a quick snatch, he retrieved his chocolate mudslide ice cream. “Oh, you know.” He gestured vaguely with the ice cream carton. “A few moments. Minutes. I don’t know.”

He pulled out a spoon and begun digging directly into the carton. 

“Kid. Not even a bowl?” Mr. Stark had begun to relax. This, this was familiar. He and Peter--they both knew how to do this. 

“Wha’?” Peter mumbled through a mouthful of chocolate. “I’m hungry.”

Mr. Stark pulled out his own spoon and reached for the ice cream carton. “Hi, hungry. I’m dad.”

Peter jerked away from the threatening spoon, which was taking jabs towards his ice cream. “Hey! Get your own!”

“Technically, it is mine: I paid for it--”

“You’re ‘dad’?” Clint frowned. “I thought he wasn’t your kid?”

“He’s not--” Iron Man struggled to exclaim while wrestling a determined Peter for the Chocolate Mudslide. 

“Son, why are you awake? It’s four in the morning.” Captain America cut in. 

“You guys woke me up. You were arguing.”

The Captain frowned. “You’re a floor up, aren’t you?”

Peter shrugged, still clinging--using his sticking powers, mind you--to the chocolate ice cream. “I have good hearing.”

‘Super hearing,’ he added, in his head, and Mr. Stark must’ve thought the same thing because his face softened. He dropped back in the chair, relinquishing his attempts to steal Peter’s late night snack. 

“Sorry, kid. We didn’t mean to wake you up.”

“‘Ss all goo’,” Peter said, mouth full. He swallowed. “But you know, since I am up…” He turned towards his mentor, widening his eyes slightly. “I do really like the Avengers, you know.”

“I knew you were eavesdropping!”

“I never said I wasn’t! But, I do say that I thought these guys--” --he gestured towards Hawkeye and Captain America with the spoon, accidentally flinging a bit of ice cream at his idols-- “--are pretty cool.” Peter passed his mentor the ice cream container; a gesture of goodwill. “Not quite Han Solo or ice cream cool. Definitely not, like, Iron Man, level cool. But still cool. Above average level of coolness.” He turned sad eyes to Mr. Starks’. “If I can’t be around the Avengers, I won’t be able to go to the Compound, right? Because they can’t legally leave for a while.” Peter’s voice dropped to a whine. “I thought you liked our lab days…”

There was a suspicious cough from Captain America’s vicinity. It sounded rather like a laugh.

“Hey, kid, this isn’t fair. You know nobody can resist those puppy eyes,” Mr. Stark grumbled. 

Peter stifled a smile. ‘I know you can’t resist those puppy eyes,’ he thought.

“I can still come around, right? Or, I don’t know. Maybe OsCorp would let me intern for them. Maybe they wouldn’t kick me out.”

Mr. Stark waved a threatening finger. “Don’t you dare. You are my intern. You don’t go fraternizing with the enemy.” The superhero began to dig into the ice cream with a mutter of, “OsCorp wouldn’t give you ice cream.” 

“So… I can still come around, then?”

“Yes!” the older man sighed. “You can still come. But, Peter, you don’t understand all the facts--”

Above, the overhead lights flickered. The four of them in the kitchen froze and glanced towards the ceiling. 

Peter swallowed tightly. The apple juice was rippling in its container. “Is that supposed--”

With a click, they were plunged into darkness.

~~*~~

“Pete, stop moving--hey, that’s my foot--”

Tony stopped speaking, forgetting his aching toe, as a light began to kindle into existence, bright and furious, and more so by the minute. It flashed white, casting rainbow colors about the kitchen. He reached for Peter, shoving the kid behind him, hoping to shield his sensitive, super-powered eyes from the light that was burning a hole through Tony’s own pupils--

The glare ceased. As if the end of a concert, the lights overhead flickered back on. 

There was someone new standing in the kitchen; two people, actually.

Thor Odinson, King of Asgard, holder of the great Mjiolner, a founding Avenger, spread his arms wide. 

“Friends!” he boomed. “I’ve missed you.”

~~*~~

Natasha surveyed the scene through watchful eyes. 

‘Old habits die hard,’ she thought and allowed a little smile to slip through her cracks. When first coming to the United States, she had heard that phrase and couldn’t help but revel in the irony of it. 

Her old habits, including assassinry, dying hard. 

Though she was no longer in the practice of murder, her training as a spy was ingrained in her, so much so that even in a room of people that had once been like family, she couldn’t stop studying each individual. Looking for thoughts, feelings, weaknesses. 

She didn’t need to be a spy, however, to see that the tension in the kitchen was going to blow off the roof. 

When Thor had opened the Bifrost directly into the tower, everyone had been woken up, even Sam, who could sleep through near anything. And upon arriving in the kitchen, those of them still rubbing at tired eyes were snapped awake like the rubber bands Clint always shot at her.

Because Thor wasn’t alone.

No, standing there, with the king of Asgard, was Loki Laufeyson. 

Clint staggered back. She caught at his arm, fingers tense. ‘I got you,’ she allowed him to read in her eyes. ‘I’ve got your back.’

He nodded once to her, a terse thing–but thankful. 

She slowly released him. He didn’t relax.

Natasha knew that even though he tried not to show it, the effects of the mind games Loki had played on her teammate had affected him greatly. 

‘And he isn’t the only one looking unhappy by these sudden arrivals,’ she thought, glancing about.

Steve had already assumed his fighting stance, seemingly unconsciously. Colonel Rhodes’ eyes were flickering nervously between the two Asgardians. Sam was glaring at Loki with thinly veiled anger. Stark had stepped forward, tucking the child–Peter–behind him. Bruce was the only one who didn’t look too concerned, but glancing around the kitchen, he sighed; Natasha wasn’t the only one sensing the fight that was brewing.

As usual, the billionaire was first to break the silence. “Why is he here?” Stark jerked his head towards Loki. 

Thor’s wide smile slowly faded. “Friends. I hadn’t seen you all in so long-”

“-and we’re all jumping through the roof to see you, too.” 

‘Clint’s sarcasm might’ve been a little too apparent,’ Natasha thought as the last of Thor’s grin vanished. 

“Why’d you bring the goth one?” The strain was clear in the archer’s voice.

Loki’s eyebrows flicked in indignation, but with a pleading look from his brother, he said nothing. 

Thor seemed to compose himself. “As Banner may have told you, Asgard has been destroyed. We’ve found shelter for our people, but the mortals of Midgard are...wary, to say the least, to invite Loki into their midst. We are here for refuge… and to make amends.” The last word was spoken with a pointed glance in the way of his brother. Loki narrowed his eyes.

“...amends.” Clint snorted. “You’ve got to be kidding.”

“Yeah, for once I agree with Birdbrain over there.” Stark gently but firmly pushed Peter back behind him as he tried to get a clearer look of the guests with his wide-eyed stare. “He tried to destroy the world!”

“Not destroy. Dominate,” Loki added helpfully. 

The genius gestured accusingly at the robed trickster. “See?”

Thor inclined his head. 

‘Thor’s changed,’ Natasha noted. ‘And not just because his hair is shorter, or that he has an eye patch to put Fury to shame.’

“We’ve seen cause to believe that Loki was being as manipulated as anyone else,” the King was saying. 

“Manipulated as anyone else?” Stark repeated. “Manip–No. This is ridiculous. You–you are gods. Who can manipulate a god?”

“A titan. A world-shaker,” Thor said darkly.

“There are no such things as titans,” Stark said, firm. 

Steve furrowed thoughtful brows and then slid into a seat at the kitchen table. “Not long ago, we would have said the same thing about gods.” He looked up at Stark. “Is it so hard to believe?”

“Not you, too, Rogers.”

Stark turned wild eyes to Clint, Natasha, and Sam. 

“You can’t be serious. You can’t actually believe this.”

Natasha watched the billionaire: his eyes, tinged with desperation; his face, flushed; hands, raised into the air as if questioning the very universe. ‘Maybe he is.’

Sam shrugged, and then slowly sank to join Steve at the table. Natasha looked around the room, carefully, carefully. They were all standing on the brink of a knife–another of her favorite sayings–and one wrong move could sever the careful ties that held the Avengers together. 

Slowly, she sat pulled out a chair and sat, too. She looked up at the Asgardians–Thor, her teammate, ally, maybe even friend, and Loki, who she had once fought.

“Sit,” she said to both of them. 

Gratefully, Thor slouched into a chair. A heartbeat later, Loki joined them. 

In the silence of the kitchen, Bruce spoke up, as he took a seat. “For what it’s worth, Thor, I’m glad to see you. And–er, I’m happy that Loki’s looking to change his ways.”

Loki’s face was near expressionless, but Natasha could tell by the slight downward curve to his lips–he wanted to say something. 

Natasha looked up. It was only Stark, his two minions–the kid and the Colonel–and Clint left standing. 

She met the eyes of her partner. 

‘Are you really trusting him?’ his eyes read.

‘I see no signs of treachery. Even though he wants to comment, he has mostly held his tongue. And, besides, even killers can turn good, sometimes, yes?’ she said silently, knowing he would read what she wanted to see in a way no one else could.

She knew he, too was remembering their meeting. A bloodstained girl with red not only in her hair but on her hands, too. 

Slowly, Clint swung a chair around and settled next to Natasha. 

Rhodes sighed and muttered to his best friend. “It’ll be okay, Tony. We can take precautions. Let’s just...hear out what they have to say.” As he sank into the seat by Clint, the group looked up. All eyes were on Stark and the boy next to him.

“You know, this is my place, right?” he dragged a fatigued hand down his goatee.

‘Yes,’ Natasha thought. ‘It is your place. But it was once we all shared one.’ And looking across the enormous table, large enough for the entire Avengers team and then some, she wondered if he hadn’t wished it was still that way when assembling the compound.

“Mr. Stark?” Peter’s soft voice echoed slightly about the kitchen.

“Yes, kid?”

“Don’t you think even villains deserve second chances?”

Stark stared at the boy. Something in his eyes seemed to visibly soften. 

He sat. Peter flounced into a chair, too, beaming. 

A collective sigh seemed to be released throughout the room. 

“Fine,” Stark said. “You can stay.” He gave Loki a long look. “But there will be rules!” 

Thor grinned. “Loki has always excelled at those.”

Natasha stifled a smile.


End file.
